


Summer in Madrid

by LadyLisa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Diplomacy, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of War, Post-Spanish Civil War, Reunions, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLisa/pseuds/LadyLisa
Summary: While visiting Spain with his friends, Romano runs into Antonio, the Portuguese ambassador's son from an embassy gala the year before.Historical Hetalia Week Day 6: 1945 - Onwards
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Historical Hetalia Week (February 2021)





	Summer in Madrid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherryberrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherryberrys/gifts).



> *The Spanish Civil War (1936 - 1939) was between the Spanish military, led by Francisco Franco, and Second Spanish Republic. The Republicans (or Reds) had the help of Russia + some International volunteers (International brigade). The military, the Nationalists, had the help of Germany + Italy.  
> **Civiles = Guardia Civile / Spanish Civil Guard, they were the national police force  
> There. Now you can say fan fiction is educational

Romano tried to ignore the sunburn forming on his neck as he leaned against the wall of a shabby café, squinting at the map in his hands. Two men sat behind him, drinking lukewarm water and speaking Castellano in ragged voices. 

“Just give Abel the map,” Klara begged. Her cheeks and shoulders were sunburned. Red polish had chipped from her fingernails, and her lipstick had faded. Abel and Jule wore the same heat-fatigued expressions, sick of walking and being weighed down by luggage. 

“Romano! You know he’s a better navigator and I’m going to faint if we don’t get out of the heat soon,” she said. Abel came behind Romano to pluck the map from his hands. Romano was too hot to argue. 

“Why do you look all freaked out?” she asked Romano. 

Romano squared his shoulders. “I feel like someone’s looking at me.” 

“God, me too, all those pictures of Franco everywhere.” Klara shook her head, taking a drag on her cigarette. Romano turned his sunburnt face towards the embassy car idling across the street. It was impossible to make out the driver or passenger’s features with the sun’s glare. Romano’s eyes watered and he looked away just as the car trundled up the road. The heat rendered Romano too apathetic to wonder whether anyone had been looking at him from the war. 

“This way.” Abel gestured down the block. Exhausted from traveling, the group deperated the café and carried on down the street. Romano wiped sweat from his forehead with the collar of his shirt, grazing the sensitive sunburn and making him suck in his breath. Surely Spain had not always been this hot when Romano had stayed in Spain a year prior, when his father had been sent to Madrid for to moderate some convoluted Italo-Spanish political deal. 

Romulus was often in meetings or the Italian Embassy, leaving Feliciano and Romano to take day trips outside the city or wander around downtown. Occasionally Romulus would bring them to galas at the embassy or politicians’ homes, and though Romano resented the crowds and constant introductions, he could never begrudge and excuse to dress up and sip expensive wine. 

Romano passed the embassy car again but didn’t deliberate. The car and thinking of the galas reminded him of Antonio. Romano squinted in the windows, but the sun refused to let up and once again it hurt too much to keep staring. 

The hotel atrium’s marble floors and fans were a delight after the heat outside. Chilly air scented with some savory scent mingled with the sweat on Romano’s face and neck, drawing goosebumps along his skin. Abel checked in while Jule sat down on her suitcase and Klara lit herself another cigarette. 

Abel turned around. “Klara, Jule, you want to share a room again?” 

“Yes please.” Klara snatched the key from Abel. Romano followed Abel up to their room and tossed his suitcase onto the floor before marching into the bathroom to splash water on his face. 

“Ugh, I’m so fucking sunburned…” 

“I told you to put more sunscreen on.” Abel opened the cramped balcony door to let the breeze in. Romano wandered onto it, bracing his elbows on the railing. There was heat haze over the distant mountains, and across the street, idling as before, was the same embassy car. Romano hadn’t memorized the plate, but certainly it had had the same few letters in it. He gripped the railing. 

“Christ, that’s the same car from earlier,” Romano said. Abel stood next to him. “They’re the ones the Spanish Foreign Service loves to use, my dad was always in them.” 

“Maybe it’s your welcoming committee,” Abel said. Romano grabbed his arm when he turned around. Someone got out of the car, heading towards the hotel’s entrance. 

“I might be about to be murdered by the Spanish government.” 

“Upsetting.” Abel pulled his arm free and carried on trying to cool off. Romano huffed and stared at the car. Seeing the car cropping up across the street was unsettling, but… Abel raised his head as Romano hurried towards the door. 

“Don’t go confront them, that’s a terrible idea,” Abel said. “You don’t even know if that’s the same car. And it’s not—” 

“Screw off!” Romano yanked the door closed and headed down the stairs. He paused on the landing. There were a few French tourists milling around the foyer waiting to check in. Romano swept the room again, slowly descending the stairs with his hand trailing on the railing. He paused on the last step. 

_Feliciano found Romano sitting on the back staircase, smoking a cigarette. A waltz played from the adjacent ballroom, the melody not quite aligning with how the smoke trails curled over his head._

_“What do you want?”_

_“Papa wants to introduce you to someone.” Feliciano sat on the steps beside him. “Why are lurking over here by yourself?”_

_“Who wants to know?”_

_Feliciano stood up and offered his hand. Romano rose without taking it and followed Feliciano back into the ballroom. The day had been tiring enough as it were; it was the anniversary of Franco’s uprising, the Festival of the Exaltation of Labor, and Romano had been forced into attendance of several celebrations across Madrid. One of these festivities had included standing in direct sunlight to watch the Falangists parade down Castellana Boulevard. It was exhausting._

_Romulus was standing in the corner furthest from the musicians, speaking with the Portuguese Ambassador and his son, who was standing so comically upright Romano coughed to hide a laugh. He was dressed in a Spanish naval uniform with the insignia of an_ alférez de navío _. Perhaps Spanish navy men were supposed to stand like that._

_Romulus introduced Feliciano and Romano. Feliciano gave an over-enthused greeting to save Romano from having to speak._

_“And my son, Antonio,” the ambassador had said. While Feliciano shook his hand, Antonio’s eyes slipped once to Romano’s. Between a heartbeat. Antonio smiled at Feliciano. Romano’s stomach turned with jealousy. Romano squeezed Antonio’s hand harder than he should have upon shaking it, inviting a hint of intrigue._

_Antonio accepted the invitation. As Feliciano and Romulus and the ambassador spoke, Antonio pivoted towards Romano._

_“Where are you from?” he asked in Italian smothered in Spanish overtones. “In Italy.”_

_“Taranto.” Romano had less interest in entertaining a country about Italy than he did in his father’s diplomacy talk. “Where do we get alcohol around here?” Antonio smiled at Romano, but dropped it when he turned back to his father and said something to him in Spanish before beckoning Romano after him. They struggled through the crowds towards the table nearby the musicians, where Antonio got them two glasses of rosado._

_Antonio’s hand shook when he passed Romano the glass. It spilled on Romano’s hand._

_“Oh, I’m sorry,” Antonio said. Romano wiped his hand off on his slacks._

_“Whatever. What’s up with you?” Romano asked._

_“Uh, just clumsy, I guess.” Antonio forced a laugh. Romano took a sip of his rosado. “I’ve never been to the Italian Embassy before. I… your dad is a diplomat, right?” Romano nodded. “So you’ve been to the embassy.”_

_“Once or twice. There’s a balcony upstairs from the minister’s office with a great view of Madrid.”_

_“That’s interesting. I never knew that.”_

_Romano raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Real interesting.” Antonio nodded and took a drink of his rosado. Clearly, he wasn’t going to take any initiative. The minister’s office was probably locked anyway. “There’s another one towards the back. Not as pretty, but we wouldn’t have to break into someone’s office.” Antonio still was not giving any sign to be understanding what Romano was implying. But Romano wasn’t a quitter._

_“I’m asking if you want me to show you.”_

_Antonio hesitated for several seconds. “Oh, sure, alright.”_

_Romano’s familiarity with the embassy was lacking, but he feigned experience as they wandered through the hallway and he tried to find the right staircase._

_“You don’t know where you’re going, do you?” Antonio asked._

_“Do you?”_

_“I bet I could figure it out.” In fact, Antonio did have better success in finding the stairs, after which Romano could find the right hall that led to the balcony, looking over a quiet, half-illuminated street. Nightbugs hummed, and distance music from the party drifted through the floor. They sat on the ground and drank rosado in breathless silence until Antonio asked him about Italy again, the question stumbling as he struggled to start a conversation. But after a few more stumbles, the conversation gained proper footing._

_When the softest lull broke their easy conversation, Antonio had looked out over the rooftops. He had taken off his military jacket and rolled his sleeves up. He’d kept running his fingers through his hair all night, and his once neatly oiled hair was disheveled. It suited him far better than the slicked-back look. Antonio didn’t shy from Romano’s eyes, but he tensed. He pushed a hand through his hair again. Romano raised his eyebrows._

_“I don’t like having my hair like this. It annoys me.” Antonio reached up with both hands and roughed up his hair. “My dad’ll kill me, but…” He shook his head vigorously._

_“Much better,” Romano agreed. Antonio grinned, and Romano allowed Antonio a small smile. He leaned back and sighed, prompting Antonio’s grin to slip into concern. “You’re stunning,” Romano murmured. Antonio’s smile recovered itself, and he murmured a soft thank you that was almost stifled by the nightbugs and distant music._

_“And you… you’re… you’re really handsome.”_

_“Am I?” Romano asked. Antonio nodded weakly, sliding a hand up his arm in a subtle self-soothing manner. “Why do you seem so anxious?”_

_“Because!” Antonio said. “How could you ask that? I… I don’t want to screw this up somehow.” Romano drew his brows together. “Because… Because it’s a beautiful night and I was having a really, really, just shit time and then you just… appeared out of nowhere, and I really like talking to you, and you’re so good-looking, and I, I just don’t want to say something dumb.”_

_“Way too late for that,” Romano said. “But it’s not like you ruined anything.” Antonio glanced back out at the city. The reflection of distant buildings and streetlights made it look like Antonio had stars in his eyes. Antonio hesitated, his eyes wandered to Romano’s and lingered there. His breathing slowed, matching the gentle adagio movement drifting up from the ballroom downstairs._

_“Why were you having a shit time? Weren’t you having fun making a fool of yourself with that ridiculous posture?”_

_Antonio shook his head. “It’s not about that. I… this is pretty… not really something I’d tell a stranger.”_

_“Am I really a stranger?”_

_“No, really, it’s…” Antonio stared at his hands. “It’s_ really _going to kill the mood. And I was hoping you were going to kiss me.” Antonio blushed, but kept his eyes on Romano’s. Romano’s pulse caught and pushed out against his ribs._

_“Then kiss me.”_

_Antonio’s breath wavered, and he lay his hand on Romano’s waist. Antonio kissed him like early summertime, the first warmth of gentle sun and June tides. Sharp citrus, addictive sweetness, the caress of evening breeze off the ocean. Storm humidity at dusk. Romano put his arms around Antonio’s shoulders. For the first time in his life, reality felt like a lie. How could this be real? Shouldn’t there be some catch, some impossibility?_

_Romano kept his arms around Antonio when they broke apart. Cicadas went on singing. Romano’s eyes drifted to his watch, startled only over an hour had passed. They had discussed so much, it must have been longer. He assured the second hand was ticking and his watch was not broken._

_“Is your night any better now?” Romano asked._

_“Mostly,” Antonio said. “But what I’m upset about…” Antonio sighed, relaxing his weight against Romano. “My brother was in Spain’s Workers Party. During the war, he, he wanted to fight with the Republicans. Horrified my parents, of course, and me.” Antonio tapped his fingers on Romano’s shoulder, focused on Romano’s lapel._

_“I woke up one night, maybe… August, but it was cold. My brother was packing, just a few clothes, he had one of those… red kerchiefs the Reds wore. And my father’s hunting rifle, too. He told me he knew someone in the International Brigade. Some Englishman stationed in Madrid. They were going to pick him up. He was going to the front, at the Ebro River.” Antonio closed his eyes._

_“And you know, I begged him not to go. I told him I didn’t want him to die.” Antonio slowly closed his fingers around Romano’s lapel, as if an unconscious movement. “But he left anyway, and I…” Antonio squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “I’ve never been him since. And every year today, on Franco’s anniversary…” Antonio swallowed and exhaled slowly. Romano lost his chance to interrupt._

_“They shoot Republican prisoners. Still, all these years later. Line them up against the wall and shoot them. So every year, every time we have this stupid, stupid goddamn party, I think of my big brother being shot up against a wall.”_

_The night humidity had gotten heavier, cold, almost damp. Romano shivered. He thought of Feliciano._

_“I shouldn’t have told you that.” Antonio sat up. “Aren’t I a romantic, huh?” He wiped his eye on the heel of his hand._

_“It’s fine,” Romano said. Words were rarely Romano’s ally. An apology didn’t seem like much use._

_“Just, don’t say anything,” Antonio said. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He leaned against Romano’s shoulder. “Tell me something nice.”_

_“I’m not good at that.”_

_Antonio played with Romano’s hand. “Do what you can. We’ll have to go back downstairs soon anyway.” Yes, they would. And probably never meet again. The humidity got heavier and colder. Romano held Antonio closer._

No one had ever struck the same chord with Romano as Antonio had that July night a year ago. Remnants of that chord resonated in Romano’s memories and thoughts, making him hurt for Antonio and that sense of connection. Those subtle vibrations never quite fizzled out, leaving Romano convinced he had to see Antonio again. 

But there Antonio was. At the front desk. Tanned with summer, smiling. Romano’s face was too sunburned for blushing, but his skin prickled. Antonio was badly smothering a grin. Romano beckoned Antonio away from the desk, failing to resist falling victim to Antonio’s sweet smile. 

“Were you fucking following me?” Romano asked. Antonio shifted. “I saw you. I saw you across the street and now you’re at my hotel, what the hell?” 

“I’m sorry, really, Romano,” Antonio said. “But I didn’t know if it was you. I thought maybe… your hair’s a little longer, um… And I, I just wanted to make sure so I didn’t do anything really, really stupid…” Antonio’s words were apologetic, but he was grinning. “You recognized me.” 

“Of course I did.” 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sorry, again.” Antonio’s face had fallen. 

“ _Bullshit_ you’re sorry. Don’t lie to my face.” Romano shook his head. “I’m calling up to my room, then we’re getting coffee.” Antonio raised his head, failing to smother a smile. 

They wandered into a café down the street with its doors open to the street, an old fan whirring away inside. Antonio ordered them espresso and sat with Romano in the back corner, underneath the clanking fan. Franco scrutinized him from the portrait behind the counter. 

“I’m sorry for following you around. Really,” Antonio said. “I just didn’t want to throw myself at a stranger who looked like you.” Antonio studied Romano’s hand, slack on his espresso cup. “Although, I don’t know if you have any interest in me anymore, but if you do—” 

Romano sat forward. “Christ, Antonio, shut up!” 

“Calm down, nobody can hear us. If worse comes to worst I can pay off the _Civiles_ if I have to, I’ve done it before,” Antonio said. 

“You _have_? What have you been doing since I’ve been gone?” Romano asked.

“Practicing my guitar. Hanging around the harbor. Spitting in the Falange’s face.” 

Romano smiled a bit. “Good.” 

“Enjoy your coffee. We can go down the street to talk if you’d feel better, they aren’t on guard there,” Antonio said. They finished their coffee and half-ran down the block to a small plaza. There was a drained fountain in the center, some trash fluttering along the aged buildings. Laundry hung from a balcony, and there were sagging benches outside a small stone chapel. Romano sat down with Antonio beside him. 

“Don’t worry about being overheard. Half these apartments are empty, except that one,” he nodded at the one with the washing. “This was a big red stronghold during the war. Tons of Republicans lived up there. They’re all gone now. Probably died shoveling shit in Seville.” Antonio looked away. 

“Anyway, I realized walking down here that you’re probably not all that interested in me. Which is fine! Really. It’s been a year, and we only talked one night.” Antonio sat on his hands. “Ah, this is a disaster, yeah? I should stop talking.” 

“Yeah,” Romano said. “So, what are your dinner plans tonight?” Antonio stared at him. 

“Wait,” he began. “You want to go out with me? Really?” 

“No, I just though it’d be funny to say yes for the hell of it. Yes, I want to go out with you.” Romano nudged a scrap of newspaper with his foot while Antonio bubbled over with excitement beside him. He smiled at Romano, who feigned impassivity while he studied Antonio’s face. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Antonio asked. He leaned nearer. “Do you want to kiss me?” 

Romano smirked. “Jesus Christ.” Instead of being dissuaded, Antonio laughed. “Yes, I want to kiss you, but we’re underneath someone's window.” 

“This church is deserted, and she can’t hear us, she’s about eighty-nine,” Antonio said. “We can go over there if you’re more comfortable.” Romano stood up too eagerly for his own liking, and Antonio took Romano to a corridor between the apartments and chapel. 

“Are you going to kiss me now?” Romano asked. He had forgotten Antonio was taller than him. 

“It’s not very romantic when you say it like that.” Antonio brushed Romano’s cheek and traced the helix of his ear. His thumb grazed Romano’s cheekbone. “But yeah, I am.” Romano’s pulse jumped as Antonio kissed him. Romano breath shook. Kissing Antonio made Romano long for him worse than he had when he believed they would never meet again. 

“You’re a lot better than I remember,” Romano said. 

Antonio shrugged. “I’ll take it,” he said. Romano brushed his hair away from his eyes, trying to catch his breath, but he had long lost it. 

“Your friends, you’re sure they won’t get… suspicious, or something?” Antonio asked. 

“They probably think I’m getting blown by you right now,” Romano said. “We’re taking a train to Portugal on Wednesday.” 

“Really? I love Portugal. I’d love to go back soon.” 

“How soon?” Romano asked. 

“Very.” Antonio perked up. “You know… would you be opposed to going a day early? I’ve got a good car. We could drive to Ladoeiro!” 

Romano scoffed. “Hijack my travel plans to drive to another country with a man I met once in my life.” 

Antonio frowned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself, I’m just… I’m really excited to that I ran into you.” 

“You son of a bitch, don’t act like you ‘ran into me.’ You _followed_ me.” Romano shook his head. “And don’t be a pussy. Lodeiro? Let’s go to the coast.” Antonio blinked, slowly smiling. “What? Don’t be so surprised. I live on poor life decisions. And I bet you want me to get you into trouble, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah. I was hoping you’d get me into all kinds of it.” Antonio blushed and gave a breathy laugh. “You really want to? I can bring my car around to your hotel.” Romano nodded. His friends would give him grief for it, but Romano attended the same university as them. He hadn’t seen Antonio in a year, and had waited and hoped and prayed for a day like this for too long to risk letting it go. 

Romano kissed him goodbye, incredulity putting a spring in his step as he wandered back to his hotel. He knocked on Klara and Jule’s room. Jule opened the door. Klara was sitting barefoot on the balcony, her journal propped open across her thighs. 

“I left my passport in your purse,” Romano said. Klara looked up, raising his sunglasses. 

“It’s on the bed. And why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

“I’m never pleased with myself.” Romano grabbed his passport from her purse, having given it to her do to his lack of satisfactory pockets. “I’m driving to Portugal. I’ll meet you guys in Lisbon on Wednesday” 

“Excuse me?” Jule asked. 

“I don’t know. I feel like doing something stupid, and doing stupid means going to Portugal.” 

Klara stopped writing. “You’re ditching us to go fuck some Portuguese guy.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I thought maybe you’d want to spend time with us.” She smirked and hopped up to poke Romano’s cheek. “Have you got a crush?” 

“That’s disgusting. And when have I ever wanted to spend time with anyone, ever?” Romano asked. “Also, he’s Spanish. We’re driving together.” 

Klara giggled. “Tell me his name at least!” 

“It’s only fair.” Jule popped up at his shoulder. 

Romano shoved his passport in his pocket, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Antonio.” 

“ _Antonio_ ,” Klara said. “Is he cute?” Romano made for the door, and Klara caught him around the waist. “I asked if he’s cute, Romano. Aw, you’re so red…” Klara laughed. She followed him to his room, berating him with questions while he grabbed his suitcase. The phone rang, and Romano snatched it up. It was the front desk, informing him that Antonio was waiting out front. Romano nodded and set the phone down, ignoring Klara’s continued smirking behind him. 

“I heard that. I want to see him,” Klara said. “It’s the least you can do for leaving us.” She hurried into the atrium with Romano, where they braced themselves for the afternoon sun. Antonio was standing beside his car outside, wearing a freshly pressed shirt and sunglasses. Romano swallowed a smile when Antonio beamed at him. 

“Oh my God,” Klara whispered. “Oh my God, he’s actually hot.” Klara marched over to Antonio, who took his sunglasses off. “Hello!” Klara offered him her hand. “I’m Romano’s confidant, Klara. Nice to meet you.” Antonio smiled and politely introduced himself while Romano sulked with crossed arms behind them. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Romano interrupted. “Bye, Klara.” She winked before giving a small wave goodbye as Romano got into Antonio’s car. 

“Alright, let’s go!” Antonio echoed. “It’ll probably be about six hours. I brought some snacks, and there’s four canteens of water in the backseat. It’ll probably got tepid, but, it’s water.”

“Don’t keep talking, you’re going to make this less and less appealing and eventually I’ll just jump out of the car,” Romano said. Antonio paused. 

“You do want to go, don’t you?” he asked, not meeting Romano’s eyes. 

“ _Yes_ , I’m just being a dick because that’s who I am,” Romano said. Antonio perked up, and Romano turned the radio on. “Now come on. Drive.” 

“Onward and upward!” Antonio said, grinning. 

Antonio had not been this happy July last year. He was happy. _Happy_ , amongst Madrid’s choked, surveilled streets. It was perverse, his joy in contrast to the country’s collective exhaustion. Madrid blinked past as they drove, still bruised from Civil War. 

“This is crazy,” Antonio muttered. “But the ocean is so romantic, don’t you think?” he added. 

“Is that a navy guy thing?” Romano asked. “Thinking the ocean is romantic?” Antonio sighed, giving him a look. “Okay, fine, I like it too.” 

They drove out of Madrid and onto sparser Spanish roads as the day’s heat grew swollen; heat haze hung above the road, and Antonio’s cheeks were flushed and dewey with sweat. He undid the top buttons of his shirt. Romano took his own off and tossed it onto the floor, trying to ignore the hot leather against his bare back and sunburned shoulders.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Romano snatched a canteen from the backseat and gulped down the water. Antonio held out his hand for it, taking a sip and pouring water into his cupped hand to rub on his nape. Antonio turned the radio up, singing some surely Franco-sanctioned but unquestionably catchy song under his breath. 

“If you’re going to be annoying, you may as well be obnoxious.” Romano cranked the radio. Antonio grinned at him, singing louder to match. Romano tapped his foot and nodded his head the slightest bit. 

Romano wouldn’t admit it, but he loved Antonio’s voice. Something about his roughed-up tone brought the nostalgia of summer nights with Romano’s old friends, gathered around the radio on the patio. Romano kissed Antonio’s shoulder, smiling when Antonio’s singing quietened. Romano left a love bite on the side of Antonio’s shoulder. Antonio touched the rouge bruise.

“What? Does it hurt?” Romano asked, brushing his knuckles against it. 

“So, so much. Kiss it better?” 

“Ugh, you’re gross. And sweaty.” 

“Please?” Antonio asked. Romano rolled his eyes, but kissed the mark as soft as he could. “Thank you.” Antonio pecked him on the top of the head. If it were cooler, Romano would have lay his head in Antonio’s lap and stayed curled against him the rest of the drive. But as it were, Romano leaned away and cranked the window down halfway. A gust of hot summer wind struck his face. Romano breathed scrub brush and humidity hinted with distant ocean, smiling to himself. 

“I saw that!” Antonio yelled over the wind and radio.

A comfortable silence formed once Antonio’s voice tired and Romano rolled up the window. Romano napped in the sun until Antonio stopped in Navas del Rey for gas, where he woke groggy and overheated. Romano propped his legs on the dash and spread the map across his thighs to follow the quickest route to the Portugese border. 

“I can drive to San Martín,” Romano said after Antonio finished paying for the gas. 

“Thanks.” Antonio switched seats with him. He leaned against Romano’s shoulder, gazing through the windshield at the sky. Oncoming evening spilled over from Antonio’s eyes. Romano drove out of the lot back onto the road. Once they were away from any surrounding buildings, Romano spoke. 

“Shit,” Romano muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to make me like you. You’re a real asshole, you know that?” 

“It’s hard not to adore me,” Antonio said with a chuckle. He kissed Romano’s neck. Romano found himself victim of another involuntary smile. 

“You must think taking a step is difficult.” 

“Oh, be nice,” Antonio said. Romano scoffed so hard he choked, giving him an embarrassed flush. Antonio laughed. “Turn the music up, I like this song.” Antonio rested his chin on Romano’s shoulder, chattering away to him about a previous visit to Portugal. 

They reached the border under dregs of sunset. The sky stretched over a still dusk, technicolor with rosy gold and washed-out pink. Romano stopped for cheap bocadillos, which Antonio perched on the car’s hood to eat. He stretched out his cramped legs and swinging them. 

“It’s _so_ pretty,” Antonio breathed. 

“Yeah.” Romano hopped onto the hood beside Antonio. The car popped as it cooled beneath them. Nightbugs were beginning to a sing, a dusk prelude to their midnight song. Antonio nudged Romano’s foot with his own. 

“You know, I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Antonio said. 

“Why?” 

“Because. How many times have you dreamed about being whisked away by a handsome stranger, and how many times has it happened?” 

“None, and roughly eight.”

“Well, for most of us, it’s the other way around.” Antonio crumpled his bocadillo wrapper and lit a cigarette, which he dragged on while watching the sun set. Antonio’s tan glowed bronze with rich sunlight, his green eyes caught the gold. Sunset must have been made all for him. Romano blushed and looked away, lest he say anything sappy. 

“Only a few hours more,” Antonio said. He propped himself against the windshield, smiling at Romano. His fawning expression was indecent. 

Antonio agreed to drive the remainder of the way to Figueira da Foz, so Romano finished his sandwich and hopped into the passenger side. They were beginning to suffer symptoms of impromptu traveling; Antonio stopped for coffee they had to plug their noses to drink. Even so, when they finally arrived, Romano was suffering a Pyrrhic victory against his fatigue. 

“We’re here!” Antonio announced. 

“Hurrah.” Romano remained slumped against his seat, eyes closed and arms crossed.

“Come on, let’s go to the beach!” Antonio shook Romano, and they sprinted across the car park to the empty shore. Night wind came off the ocean and grazed their skin, savory with seasalt. White surf nipped at sand still warm from evening. They panted in the gathering dark. Antonio flopped onto the sand, arms outstretched with sand in his wavy hair. 

Romano crouched down beside him, stroking Antonio’s chin with his thumb. “Aren’t you gonna kiss me?” he asked. 

Antonio gave a tired smile. His hand idled along Romano’s cheek, making Romano close his eyes, savoring the static between them. Antonio kissed him, soft as the word itself. Softer than the warmth lingering in the sand. Romano brought Antonio closer, breathed him in until his senses lost themselves. The ocean rolled in and out against the shore. 

Romano exhaled shakily when they broke apart. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said, “but this has been… pretty fun. I thought I was going to regret it an hour in, but you’re…” Romano shrugged. His cheeks flamed. 

“Tolerable?”

“Quit interrupting or I won’t say what I want to say.” Romano dug his fingers into damp sand. “I really can’t stand most people at all, but… But I like you. So. Yeah.” Romano kissed Antonio to avoid another word. Antonio kissed him back with a sweetness that gave Romano pangs in his heart. 

Antonio pressed his forehead to Romano’s. “I like you too,” he whispered. Antonio kissed Romano again, holding him close as the night tide rolled in.


End file.
